


Memory

by ComicBooksBro



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (flashback), Amnesia, Amnesiac Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Angst, Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger - The Crypt Scene, Freaked Out Castiel (Supernatural), Fresh Outta Heaven Cas, M/M, Memory Loss, Witch Curses, Worried Castiel (Supernatural), Worried Dean Winchester, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComicBooksBro/pseuds/ComicBooksBro
Summary: Castiel gets hit by a witch's spell, and suddenly can't remember anything from the last dozen years.Dean is understandably freaked out now that his angel is back on factory settings, and Castiel is freaked out in general.Nothing is easy when you can't remember.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 207





	Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Huntress_WomenSpirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress_WomenSpirit/gifts).



> Sooo, I got this prompt on Reddit a while ago when I had writers block and asked for prompts. It took me a while, and I didn't manage to work the entire prompt in, but I did get the basics down. I hope it's okay. <3

“—ammy! Something’s wrong with Cas!”

Castiel blinked his eyes open, confused as to how or why he had ended up on the floor, and who he was with. He could feel warm hands carefully holding his head, and when he looked up, he was able to connect them to a green-eyed man above him. The man looked down, his forehead pinched in worry, but immediately relaxed a bit once he realized Castiel’s eyes were open.

“You’re okay.” He let out a sigh of relief, but didn’t move his hands from Castiel’s face. “Welcome back, buddy.” The man’s soul—which was shredded in several places to the point of concern, yet still somehow beautiful—fluttered happily.

Castiel squinted at the oddly familiar stranger above him, trying to recall if he had ever seen him before. _Oh._ “The Michael Sword.”

The Sword’s eyes went wide. “Yeah, something’s not right,” he muttered. “It’s Dean,” he corrected. “You do remember my name, right, Cas?”

“Dean Winchester...”

“That’s right.” Dean helped Castiel sit up, then stand. His hand remained on Castiel’s shoulder. “That witch must have banged you up worse than I thought. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Castiel tensed; what witch? Why was he here? And why couldn’t he seem to remember?

He needed to get to Heaven. Heaven would have the answers he needed. Choosing not to answer, Castiel ruffled his wings and prepared for flight, only to nearly gasp in pain as he moved the feathered appendages. _What had happened to his wings?_ He eyed Dean suspiciously—could he have done this? If Castiel was able to glean one thing from this so far, it was that he didn’t trust Dean. His brothers had told him that humans were notorious for deceit and violence. Castiel hadn’t entirely believed them—and he was still unsure—but this situation was not in favor of humanity being trustworthy. Few situations were, in Castiel’s opinion.

“Cas? The last thing you remember?”

There it was again: _Cas._ Castiel couldn’t remember anyone calling him anything other than his full name, and the way Dean said ‘Cas’—full ofwarmth and concern, like Castiel was more than just an angel—made Castiel desperately want to trust him. “I was in Heaven. I was told it was my mission to pull you from Hell. Unfortunately, it looks like I was beat to it.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Hell? That was _years_ ago.” He let out a worried breath. “We’ve gotta get back to the bunker—and where the hell is Sam?” Dean looked sound, but found his brother still absent.

 _Sam Winchester: the boy with the demon blood._ Castiel flinched as he felt Dean’s hand on his back, pushing him out the door of the Victorian house they were in, and started to pull away from the hunter. Suddenly, he was hit by a burst of light and pain, and felt himself falling to the ground.

 _Dean was next to him, and they were running, though Castiel wasn’t sure from what. Everything was grayed-out, and eyes seemed to watch from every tree. Castiel’s mind was a jumbled mess of_ we’re not going to make it-s _and half-thought-our plans as they stumbled through the brush._

 _Suddenly, Castiel was on the ground, and a splitting pain shot through his lower leg. Dean shouted, and Castiel could hear whatever was approaching them coming in from behind. There was some shuffling, then a sharp_ swish _of metal and a thick, wet_ thunk. _By the time Castiel had managed to get his feet under him, the monster chasing them was dead, and Dean was standing over its body, a bloodied blade in his hand._

_“Are you okay?” Castiel nodded numbly. He took a step, and felt his leg start to buckle. Luckily, Dean caught him and slid an arm around his waist to keep him upright. “We can stop for a second, you need to rest.”_

_Castiel looked into Dean’s tired green eyes, and—_

Blinking himself back into awareness, Castiel was faced with the same eyes, just as concerned, and just as stunning. Dean was holding him up, his arm around Castiel’s waist.

“Hey, hey, come on...”

“Dean?”

Dean sighed in relief. “You’re back. What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel sighed and pulled away from Dean. “I was... in a forest. Running, you were there. Something was chasing us and you killed it. That’s all.”

Dean frowned. “Purgatory.” He started walking towards a sleek black car and motioned for Castiel to follow him. He turned towards Castiel once they reached the car. “What year to you think it is?”

“2008.”

“Shit. Okay, no. It’s 2020.”

Castiel felt his heart freeze in shock. “What?”

***

Castiel was lost.

The last thing he remembered was Heaven and being assigned his mission to raise the Righteous Man from perdition. How had he managed to lose 12 years?

How had he managed to lose his purpose?

Had a witch really done this to him, an angel of the lord? (Was he really an anger anymore, though? The more Castiel looked at himself, he more human he seemed. Was that a bad thing? He didn’t know.)

He sighed and looked at the floor. Dean (and Sam, when he had shown up) seemed nice enough (more than nice enough), but could he trust them? They hadn’t given any indication they would betray him, but you could never be too careful.

They were in The Bunker now. Dean had explained it was their home, but not how they got it. Castiel could practically feel the dirt pressing in on him from above as anxiety closed in. His wings were broken, and he had somehow slingshotted a dozen years into the future, where he was apparently friends with humans, and Heaven appeared to be all but closed. Or, at least according to Sam and Dean, it wasn’t an important factor now. Castiel found that hard to believe; Heaven, unimportant?

But here he was, in an underground bunker with a man he had thought to be in Hell a couple hours ago, and another one he had been told was addicted to demon blood. Castiel had scanned Sam for signs of it the moment he had come into sight, but either his powers were greatly diminished, or the younger Winchester was clean. Or both, Castiel had a feeling it could easily be both.

Sam and Dean were bent over an ancient leather tome, talking in low, worried tones. Castiel listened, but didn’t add anything to their conversation. He had already told Dean everything he knew, and figured that if he had any other information it would be useless.

Sam scribbled something on a paper, looked at it, glanced over to a book filled with cuneiform, then one filled with Latin. His eyebrows pinched together as he crossed something out, and wrote another word in its place. That couldn’t be good, Castiel thought.

“You said he was hit by the spell?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, Sherlock.” Dean rolled his eyes. “He was distracted and it hit him dead in the chest.” Castiel could see a flash of stale fear cross through Dean’s eyes as he spoke.

“That’s not good,” Sam said, confirming Castiel’s suspicions.

“Well?” Dean tossed his hands up in frustration. “What’s wrong with him? Why’s he acting like Naomi wiped his hard drive again?”

Fear struck Castiel’s chest like a lightening bolt. _Naomi, wiping his memories?_ He swallowed nervously. _Again?_

Luckily, Sam broke into Castiel’s train of thought before the angel could wall himself up with worries and questions. “It was the witch’s spell. It looks like she put some kind of block in his memory.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Please tell me we can fix this.”

Sam looked down at the books again. “I think so.” He flipped a couple pages, then flipped back without reading. In the back of his mind, Dean thought that Sam was just doing that so he would look smart. He was probably right. “Remember my Hell wall?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

“It _might_ be like that.” Sam sighed. “I don’t have much to go off, because this looks more like a home brew than anything.” Sam glanced up at Castiel, seeming to acknowledge the angel for the first time since the books had been pulled out. “I have no idea how to fix this, but we just need you to try to remember. Even little things could help.”

Castiel looked over at the strangers in front of him who seemed to care so much for no reason, and mustered a positive expression. “Okay. I’ll try.”

***

Dean’s eyes burned, but he ignored it in favor of continuing to pour over the books he had in front of him. Research sucked—that was obvious, but he was willing to do it if he could find some other way to help Cas. Waiting for Cas to regain his memories one by one wasn’t something Dean thought he could last through. Latin and cuneiform swan in front of his eyes.

If Cas was gone—if he couldn’t recover his memories—Dean didn’t know what he’d do.

Cas was in his room. He had been trying to avoid Sam and Dean since they had made the initial discovery about the spell. Apparently angels don’t take well to over a decade of memory loss. Sam had looked over the books for a couple more hours before disappearing himself, which made sense. It was late.

Dean couldn’t sleep, though. He couldn’t rest until Cas was back to normal. Especially since the whole thing was all his fault. _He_ had thought they were in the clear after he killed the witch, _he_ had been the one who pulled Cas aside and distracted him by telling the angel he was in love with him and—

Dean slammed the book shut. _Damnit._ This wasn’t the time to delve into his feelings. He needed to help Cas, and sooner rather than later.

***

Castiel sat in the center of the bed the Winchesters had introduced as his. They had told him this was his room, which Castiel found strange—why would he need a bedroom if he didn’t sleep? He figured it was a formality. Humans were strange. (And some of their habits were endearing, but no one needed to know that.)

He spread his wings again, trying to map out the scope of the damage that had been done to them. They had been hurting ever since he had emerged from unconsciousness, almost to the point where he wanted to scream in pain. How his present-day-self dealt with it, Castiel had no idea. He wondered if the Winchesters knew the condition his wings were in.

Flapping them tentatively, Castiel almost cried out in pain as he felt his charred skin rip. He wanted to throw up; how had this happened to him? Painfully dragging his wings close to his back, Castiel retched in pain, shivering as the muscles in his back spasmed and—

_His throat ached where Metatron had ripped out his grace, and Castiel cursed himself for being so stupid. Why had he thought this would work? He should have waited—he should have listened to Dean. Now he had broken Heaven, and there was nothing he could do to fix it, human as he was._

_The sky was filled with what looked like meteors, or shooting starts, but Castiel knew better. Those weren’t shooting stars, those were his brothers and sisters, cast from Heaven because of Castiel’s foolishness._

_He could only hope they would survive, and if they wanted him dead, he wouldn’t blame them._

Castiel pried his heavy eyes open; _another memory. Sam said that was good._ He whimpered, and realized that while he had been in his own head his wings had stretched out again, and were hurting worse than ever. A choked noise of pain crawled from his mouth as he tried to sit up.

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Castiel jumped. _How had be become so weak?_ If he was correct, his grace was that of a seraph (which, in itself was strange), and that meant he should be stronger than he remembered being. Then again, his grace felt worn and weak, like it was barely keeping him above humanity.

“Come in.”

The door clicked open and Dean stepped in. He looked exhausted: the dark circles under his eyes were pronounced, and he looked ready to pass out at any moment. “Hey, Cas.” Castiel tilted his head, wondering why Dean was here. “I heard a noise, are you okay?”

“I’m...” _I’m fine,_ is what Castiel wanted to say—was what he _should_ say. Angels weren’t supposed to show any sign of weakness, but he felt he could trust Dean, and if the hunter knew some way to help with the shooting pain in his wings, Castiel would take it. “It’s my wings.” He said, hoping that would clear things up.

“What happened to them?”

Castiel sighed. “I was hoping you knew. It seems like they’ve been this way for a long time. They feel like they’ve been burned.” As if to prove a point, one of Castiel’s wings chose that moment to feel like it was being ripped from his true form, and he barely held back a wince.

“The fall...” Dean whispered. He stepped forward and sat on the far edge of Castiel’s bed. “About eight, maybe nine years ago, the angels fell. The angel who did this used your grace in a spell to cast them out. It must have burned your wings.” He looked at Castiel, a kind of soft sympathy clouding his eyes. “I should have thought about that—God, Cas, I had no idea.” Dean bit back a yawn. “Can I do anything?”

Castiel shook his head. “Anything I could have done to heal them I’ve probably already tried, and wing grooming is traditionally only between mates.” An emotion somewhat akin to hurt flashed across Dean’s face. “I doubt we’re that close.”

“Yeah.” Dean forced out a short laugh. “You’re probably right.”

There was an awkward moment of silence before Castiel spoke again. “I remembered something else.”

Dean raised his head, interest piqued. “What?”

“I think it was what you said earlier—the fall? I was human, and I could see my brothers and sisters being cast from Heaven.” He sighed and his wings shivered as the memory flashed behind his eyes again. “It was horrible.”

“Yeah, that—it was horrible.” Sadness darkened Dean’s eyes for a moment, then he brightened a bit, but it seemed forced. “At least you’re remembering, though.”

Castiel sighed. “At least there’s that.”

***

“So get this—“ Dean shot awake at the sound of Sam’s voice, peeling himself off of the leather-bound books he had fallen asleep over.

“Did’ja find something on Cas?” Dean asked urgently, still coming into full awareness.

Sam was frowning slightly, and Dean didn’t know whether to let that worry him or not. “Remember the spell you gave me? The one you thought the witch used on Cas?” Dean nodded. He hadn’t been exactly sure of the words—the witch had a pretty heavy accent, and Dean had been otherwise occupied at the time. (By trying to kill her, but /whatever.)/ “Yeah, I tweaked it a bit, and it looks like—from what I can translate—Cas’ memories aren’t exactly blocked, but scattered.”

Dean blinked a couple times, still shaking off the remnants of sleep. “What the hell does that mean?”

Sam looked like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Let me finish. They’re scattered around places, people, and feelings that hold a certain emotional significance to him.” Sam took a sip from the cup of coffee he was holding, and Dean thought absently, and not for the first time that they should invest in some new mugs. “The more important or ingrained his memories are, the easier they should be to trigger. If he can remember enough, everything else should come rushing back.”

Dean stood, any trace of tiredness gone from his face. “Well then, what are we waiting for? I’ve gotta tell Cas.”

***

Castiel had no idea how he was supposed to trigger memories, but he was going to try. The moment Dean had told him what needed to be done Castiel had started wracking his brain for anything that looked relevant to his life.

The bunker seemed important, he had his own room there after all. Heaven had been at some point, and he was obviously close with Sam.

Then there was Dean.

Dean was... he clearly cared for Castiel a lot, but the angel was still confused as to the nature of their relationship. He felt closer with Dean than Sam, and when he looked into the righteous man’s soul, Castiel could see the imprint of his grace wrapping around various tatters in Dean’s soul. But just how close were they?

Castiel recrossed his legs and returned his focus to recovering his memories—with the return of them would come the answer to his questions about Dean, and hopefully everything else.

He brought back the memories he had already: purgatory (or so Dean had said), and the fall. The first one seemed insignificant compared to the second, but Castiel didn’t discount it. If he had learned anything, it was that it was foolish to discount even the most minute details.

Breathing deep, Castiel let himself relax, spreading his ragged wings as far as he could without hurting himself. It felt good to stretch them, even they ached a bit. Castiel looked around the room, taking in every inch of it and hoping it would spark something.

Unfortunately, his room was almost completely bare, and the more Castiel searched, the more dejected he became. Apparently, his future-self had a fondness for minimalism. But, as he looked over his room for what seemed like the thousandth time, Castiel noticed something he hadn’t before.

A small plastic rectangle laid on a side table, unassuming and insignificant. Deciding it was worth a shot to look at, Castiel stood and picked it up, squinting at the words scrawled onto the label.

**_Dean’s top 13 Zepp Tra xx._ **

Castiel placed it carefully back onto the table, sighing. The one thing in his room wasn’t even his. He was never going to get through this.

Then his ears started to ring. He stumbled back towards his bed, and tripped forward into darkness.

_He’s walking through the bunker, dread and failure pulling the air from his unused lungs. Everything is heavy around him. He hurts—emotionally and physically—in places he didn’t know it was possible to hurt. The piece of flimsy plastic sits in his hand, and he can’t pretend that he doesn’t feel as if it’s dragging him down._

_He knocks on the door to Dean’s room, waits a second, and opens it. Dean is mad, Castiel can remember that much, though whether it’s directed at the world or himself he can’t tell. Possibly both. Dean looks like the world is dragging him down, too._

_“Sorry, Dean. I just wanted to return this.” He holds out the cassette tape, and Dean gives him a strange look._

_“It’s a gift. You keep those.”_

_“Oh.” Castiel can’t remember anyone having given him a gift before._

He gasps back to awareness, suddenly shaky and tired. His wings are cramped beneath him, due to his awkward sprawl on the bed, and Castiel wonders with a wild panic how long he has been out. The cassette tape still looks innocent, but Castiel knows better now.

_So that makes three._

***

Castiel is in the dungeon when he starts to feel like he’s about to throw up.

One second he’s walking, and the next his stomach is clenching and his head aches and he knows he’s going to collapse at any moment and—

 _Dean is in front of him, on his knees, beaten half to death. Castiel is horrified and he can’t think, save for the—_ how why when where— _running through his wind at warp speed. Dean is saying something but Castiel can’t hear him. Everything is wrong in his mind._

_How did I let this happen? How did he let—_

_He hit Dean again._

Castiel threw up. Or, rather, he tried to. He pitched forward onto his hands and knees, and dry-heaved, like he was trying to puke his missing memories out onto the ground. Coughing bile, he let himself collapse into the floor, determined to ride out the effects without calling for help.

“Cas?”

_No._

“Cas?” He could hear Dean approaching, and tried to compose himself, but just ended up retching again. “Jesus, what happened to you?”

Castiel whimpered, eyes filled with tears from the burn of stomach acid. He turned his head to Dean.

“I— I remembered something. I think. I don’t...” He gagged again.

“Can you tell me what?” Dean’s hand is resting on his shoulder again, rubbing small circles into the tight muscle in an effort to calm Castiel. It worked a bit, but Castiel decided to ignore how good it felt.

“I was... underground? In—in a... it was dark. I hurt you. I was hurting you, and I think you asked me to stop, but I didn’t listen.” Tears are still leaking from Castiel’s eyes, and this time it’s not because he’s been trying to turn his organs inside out. “I’m so—“

“Don’t even think about apologizing,” Dean growled. “It’s wasn’t your fault; water under the bridge.” He sighed. “Has this happened before? The, um, the throwing up thing?”

Castiel shook his head, still huddled on the ground. “I was shaky last time, but it was nothing like this.”

Dean set his jaw, and looked at Castiel with a worried stare. “We can only hope that this means we’re getting close to having all your memories back.”

Castiel winced again. _We can only hope._

***

The next time it happens is worse. Castiel is walking into the kitchen and he passes an entrance he’s passed what feels like 100 times when his head explodes in pain. He registers himself falling to the ground, and then everything flips upside down.

_He’s still in the bunker, and it’s almost as if nothing has changed, except that he hurts everywhere and Dean is there—but not to help, and not beaten to a pulp. This time, Dean is the one beating him._

_Castiel’s head snaps back with a punch, and let doesn’t make a move to fight back. Castiel can see a mark—a burn-like brand—on Dean’s arm the next time he pulls it back, and readies himself for another punch._

_The minutes blur past him, and the next thing Castiel knows, there’s an angel blade stuck in the ground next to his head and Dean is gone. He’s shaking, he shaking so hard it’s impossible to ignore, and he wants to cry._

Dean is shaking him.

“Cas! Cas, what happened?” Castiel can’t move. His limbs feel frozen, and he everything is even more mixed up than it usually is. _Dean had almost killed him._

“I—I—“ He coughed, chest tight.

“You’re gonna be okay. Just breathe, alright?” Castiel’s body burned where Dean’s hands have touched him and all Castiel knows is that he can’t trust Dean and he needs to get away and out out _out—_

The lightbulbs explode, and there’s a cut-off shout from Dean as he’s sent flying across the room, into the wall. Something breaks, but Castiel is too preoccupied with trying to stop the tremors that wrack his body to care about what it is.

“Cas— _Cas,_ you’ve gotta calm down, please. You’re gonna level the bunker,” Dean’s voice comes from far left. He sounds winded, like Castiel knocked the air out of him.

“Cas _stop!”_

Castiel opened his eyes, and the shaking stopped, Dean was flat against the wall opposite to him, wheezing, his eyes wide. “Jesus, buddy,” he managed to squeak out. He coughed again. “Ano—another memory?”

“Yes,” Castiel said after a pause. His body still burned with phantom pains, and he fought not to shiver as he tried to stand. Dean managed to get to his feet first, and offered Castiel a hand to pull him up. Castiel hesitated for a moment, then took it. Dean pulled him to his feet, and Castiel stepped away the second he was stable enough to.

“What was it this time?” Dean asked, still slightly breathless.

“You hurt me,” Castiel said quietly. “You were hurting me and I begged you to stop, but you wouldn’t listen and you... you were so... _angry._ You didn’t look like yourself.” He swallowed thickly. “You were dark. Demonic.”

Dean’s eyes dulled as he recalled that time. “I was a demon.” His eyes flicked down to his right forearm. “You and Sam saved me.” He bit his lip; his gaze unable to stay in one place for more than a couple seconds at a time. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“I know it probably doesn’t mean anything right now... but I’m sorry.” Dean’s jaw was tense as he looked at Castiel.

“It’s fine.”

***

A few days passed without any more memories surfacing, and Castiel started to lose hope. It looked like Sam and Dean had, too. Castiel can feel an itch in the back of his brain, the last bit of a crumbling wall before he can remember, and he tries everything he can think of to break it, but nothing seems to work.

Dean helps him. He tells stories about hunts and various apocalypses—anything he thinks could help jog Castiel’s memories.

Still, nothing.

Castiel feels like a stranger in the Winchester’s house—like he’s taken the body of their friend, and in a way, he guesses he has. This is frustrating for him, but he can’t imagine how it is for Sam and Dean. It’s at times like this Castiel counts himself lucky that angels can’t feel. Not much, anyway. Castiel suspects he should be feeling less than he is—but maybe that’s a side effect of being in his future-self’s body.

His wings still ache, but he has grown used to it now.

 _Am I ever going back to normal?_ He thinks one night. _What_ is _normal?_

His mind doesn’t feel like home anymore. Instead, if feels unfamiliar and untrustworthy—not his. Not anymore.

***

The last memory comes three weeks after the first.

Castiel is in the library, sitting in a chair next to Dean as the hunter pours over lore book after lore book. Sam is on a hunt with one of the Winchesters friends, Eileen—Dean had explained that it was less likely a hunt Eileen needed help with, and probably Eileen wanting to see Sam more than anything. Two days later, and they had figured out it _wasn’t_ a simple hunt like Sam and Eileen had thought, but a something they had never seen before.

Castiel has been trying to help, but to no avail. Apparently the curse blocked more than just his memories of time on earth. Fortunately, Dean seems to find what he thinks Sam and Eileen are looking for within a couple hours, and reports back to them quickly. Soon after, Sam and Eileen report on in on having killed the monster, but Sam says he won’t be back for a couple days, which prompts a smirk and couple innuendoes from Dean. Sam hangs up pretty quickly after that.

“They seem happy together,” Castiel comments after Dean sets the phone down and goes to put some of the books back on the shelves.

“They’re _disgusting,”_ Dean calls back. Castiel picks up a stack of books and follows Dean’s voice. “I’m happy for them, though. Sammy deserves someone like her.”

“Do you have someone?” Castiel asked, putting a book back where he thought it had come from.

Dean went silent. He opened his mouth, closed it, and set another book on the shelf.

“No.” His voice wasn’t cold so much as sad. “I wasn’t able to tell them how I felt until it was too late. I think I lost them.”

“Oh”

Dean looked over and shrugged sadly. Castiel felt his knees buckle, and saw the floor rushing up to meet him.

_There was a loud bang as Dean shot one witch-killing-bullet into the witch, then another. She screamed as she went down, pawing at the blooming pool of blood on her chest, then going quiet._

_“You alright, Cas?” Dean asked as he walked over. Dirt dusted his jacket and he had a long cut across his forehead, it other than that he seemed intact._

_Castiel reached out and pressed two fingers to the uninjured part of Dean’s forehead, noting a slight decrease in the tension of Dean’s shoulders as he was healed. “I’m fine.”_

_“Good. I was worried for a second, it looked like that spell hit you pretty head on.” Dean tried to smile, but his worry still showed through. “I almost lost you today.” His voice was quiet, and carried a hint of dark realization._

_“I said I’m fine.” Castiel gestured at himself, and neglected to mention the fact that he had barely managed to suppress the witch’s magic when she had hit him._

_“I know, I just...” Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “One day we’re not gonna get so lucky. We’ve died before—what’s stopping us from doing it again?” Castiel tilted his head. “I need to say something.” Dean took a deep breath, and for a brief second he looked absolutely terrified. “I love you. Not as a brother, or a friend, and I want—I don’t know what I want, but I’ll take whatever you’re gonna give me.”_

I’ll give you whatever you want, Dean, _Castiel thinks, his mind nearly frozen in shock. Then the pain hits—some of what he had been holding back from the spell, Castiel guesses—and he can’t think about what Dean said anymore, because he’s spiraling down, down, down, into darkness._

Castiel wakes up on the floor, his mind whole again. He feels weak, shaky, and sweaty, but he’s whole again, and that’s what matters.

_And Dean loves him._

Forcing his burning eyes open, Castiel comes face to face with Dean. “You love me?” Dean looks petrified. “I remember,” Castiel whispers, searching Dean’s worried green eyes. “I...”

“I’m sorry.” Dean’s voice sounded tight with emotion. “I sho—“

“I love you, too.”

“You—I— _love me?”_ Dean’s soul flares in hope. Castiel thinks he can see tears shining in Dean’s eyes, and hopes they’re the good kind. Castiel is so relieved to have his memories back he thinks he may cry himself.

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean hugs him then, and Castiel doesn’t think he’s ever felt so light. “I love you,” Dean whispers after a long moment. He lets out a short laugh. “Wow. That feels good to say.” Dean’s hands are resting on Castiel’s waist as he talks, and Castiel thinks that feels pretty good, too, but decides not to mention it. Dean’s eyes are bright and he looks more relaxed than Castiel can remember him being in a long time.

“You look happy.”

Dean’s expression turns slightly embarrassed. “I, uh, I am. It’s good to have you back, Cas.”

“It’s good to be back.”

It’s even better when Dean kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> <3


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